


The Hardest Word

by AfricanDaisy, KayleeArafinwiel



Series: The Iathrim Chronicles [10]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood, Cousins, Discipline, Father-Daughter Relationship, Foreshadowing, Mention of spanking, Original Character(s), Revenge, Uncle-Niece Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/pseuds/AfricanDaisy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/KayleeArafinwiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neldiel exacts revenge in a rather creative way, and proves that she may be small but she certainly isn't weak - and more fool anyone who thinks she is!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Word

**Author's Note:**

> Neldiel is 26 in this story, the human equivalent being 11. Her cousin Miradan is 32, or 13 in human years.

From the shady spot under the weeping willow giving her refuge, Neldiel Brandiriel could hear merrymaking and music from the garden party her grandparents were throwing for their youngest son. She had stayed long enough to watch Uncle Baralin open his gifts and to mingle with the other nobles in attendance, and even to have a couple of dances. She had danced with twinkly-eyed Baralin, laughing in delight as he lifted her and spun her around, and then she had danced with arrogant Lord Celepharn. She had liked dancing with him, because she had stepped on his foot. Twice. That had pleased her. Then she had slipped away to enjoy her own company, because her sisters had been enjoying the dancing too much to play with her, and there hadn’t been any other ellith. Well, Aglarwen was there, and Aglarwen was all right, but she was too prim for Neldiel’s liking.

 

There was going to be a bird display later, and Neldiel would make sure that she was back in time for that. She did love watching her grandfather’s birds. He even let her help him with them sometimes, and that was one of her favourite things about staying with Ravondir and Halloth. Her other favourite thing was Baralin, when he was home, and that wasn't much at all. Her mother’s baby brother was a traveller, always off ‘gallivanting’, as Ravondir called it. That was the beauty of being the youngest son, the spare, Baralin would grin. And that made Neldiel laugh, because she could hardly imagine severe, uptight Uncle Arvellon and Uncle Ramirith getting into the sort of scrapes that their brother got into. And Arvellon and Ramirith would never bring home interesting gifts, if they brought any home at all.

 

As she thought about the latest present that Baralin had brought for her – a scarlet parrot from the Havens, much to Brandir and Siliveth’s dismay – and the rude things that she was teaching it to say about Cousin Galuchil, she heard a twig snapping somewhere behind her. She looked up to see dark haired Míradan, Uncle Arvellon’s youngest son. At thirty-two, he was the cousin closest to her in age, just six years older, but they were not friends. They had never been friends. Why did he have to come and spoil her peace? She wasn't hurting anyone. Grumbling silently to herself, she gave the other elfling a cordial nod, just like she had seen her father give to courtiers that he did not like.

 

“You’ll get in trouble if they find out you’ve left the garden party,” Míradan observed.

 

“I haven’t,” Neldiel replied shortly. “I’m still _in_ the garden.”

 

“But you’re not at the _party_. When they get hold of you, they’ll smack you really hard until your bottom is so red and hot all over that _everyone_ will be able to see it through your dress,” Míradan said, looking pointedly at the elleth’s cream coloured silk gown. When she did not react, he sighed and held out his fist, clenched carefully so as not to flatten whatever hid inside it. “I brought you a present.”

 

Neldiel’s turquoise eyes flickered upwards, and she studied her cousin. “A present? For me?”

 

“It’s a really good present, but you’ve got to say please,” Míradan answered. “Otherwise some other elleth will get it.”

 

After a few moments of deliberation, during which she accepted that this might go horribly wrong, Neldiel nodded. “Please.”

 

“Shut your eyes and hold your hand out.”

 

Closing her eyes didn’t sit well with Neldiel, and she worried for a moment what Míradan might do when she wasn’t looking, but she made herself obey and stuck out her right hand. She felt Míradan coming closer, heard soft, gleeful laughter as his knuckles brushed over her palm. Then he uncurled his fingers, and Neldiel felt something small and furry drop out of his hand, into hers. Frowning slightly, she tried to identify what it could be. She didn’t want to open her eyes and give Míradan the satisfaction of seeing her shocked. She wanted to be prepared, she wanted to… _oh._ She knew what it was, and she wanted to laugh. Her cousin knew so very little of her that he really thought giving her a dead mouse would make her cry. What did he think she fed to Ravondir’s hawks, puffs of cloud and cherry blossoms? Really. And he called _her_ stupid.

 

Neldiel opened her eyes and stared down at the unfortunate little creature, aware of the smile slowly slipping from Míradan’s face as he realised that she wasn't going to scream or burst into tears. She looked at him in calm silence, and a scowl marred his pretty, androgynous features. “Don't you like it?”

 

“It is a sweet mouse,” the elleth replied.

 

“Then say thank you, Neldiel,” Míradan commanded.

 

“Thank you, Neldiel.”

 

Míradan’s dark blue eyes widened in shock and he went very still, staring at his cousin. “I’m going to punish you,” he spat suddenly, and his eyes flashed furiously as he knocked the mouse out of Neldiel’s hands before wrenching her skirt up and landing a kick to her shin. She whimpered softly, and he promptly booted her again. “You’re not to be so disrespectful to your _betters_. Say sorry, Neldiel!”

 

“Sorry, Neldiel,” Neldiel responded dutifully.

 

“Just you wait until Galuchil hears about this,” Míradan hissed. “He’ll strap you good and proper. I’m going to get him right now. You had better still be here when I get back!”

 

Neldiel watched thoughtfully as her cousin whirled about and started stalking away, back towards the party, and she absently rubbed the back of her left leg up and down her right shin. She didn't think that Galuchil would give her a strapping, because she really wasn't big enough for that, and anyway, she thought she’d have to be over a desk. Galuchil probably wouldn’t like that, for he had commented before that an elleth’s place was across an ellon’s lap. Neldiel never quite understood her eldest male cousin when he talked about ellith. He was rather strange, that way, and not particularly nice either.

 

“Míradan?” she called. “I don't want you to get Galuchil.”

 

“Too bad!”

 

“No, Míradan...I don't want you to get him.” As the older elfling stopped and turned back to face her, Neldiel walked up to him and pressed the palm of her hand flat against his chest. Then she shoved. Míradan’s foot slipped on the edge of the bank and he toppled backwards into the pond, making Neldiel giggle and clap her hands in delight. Spluttering, he sat up with slimy pondweed clinging to him, and that just made the pretty little elleth laugh harder. “Oh…oh no, you look a…a little damp,” she remarked, between bursts of laughter. “This saves you bathing later.”

 

“I’ll get you for this!” Míradan shouted, sounding on the verge of tears. “I will get you for this and you’ll be so sorry!”

 

Neldiel laughed and darted away through the trees, slowing to a sedate walk only when she reached the main garden with its burbling fountain and bright flowerbeds. If Halloth caught her running, she would have to endure a lecture on ladylike behaviour before being allowed to go on her way. As it happened, fiery haired Halloth was deep in conversation with another elleth, and she didn’t even notice Neldiel. Pleased, the elfling slipped behind her grandmother and twisted past a group of Baralin’s exotic friends, before finally reaching Lord Brandir on the far side of the garden. Overlooked by a marble statue of Varda, he was talking to Lords Galadhon and Gwathion, and Arvellon was standing nearby, looking bored. Neldiel would much rather her uncle was elsewhere, but that couldn’t be helped.

 

She waited patiently until a natural break came in the discussion, and then she stepped forward to stand between Brandir and Gwathion. “Ada,” she announced calmly. “Sorry to disturb you, but I just wanted to tell you that I pushed Míradan in the pond.”

 

The King’s loremaster did a double take and stared at his youngest daughter in startled disbelief. Galadhon’s eyebrows rose and Gwathion’s lips twitched, and before Brandir could demand an explanation, Arvellon swept into the centre of the small circle and did it for him. “You did what, Neldiel?” he snapped, glaring down at his niece.

 

“I pushed Míradan into the pond,” Neldiel repeated. “It’s the one by the weeping willow. He kicked me, and I do not like to be kicked, so I put him in the water.”

 

The ellyn stared down at her in shock (Brandir), disapproval (Galadhon), concealed amusement (Gwathion), and poorly hidden rage (Arvellon), and she clasped her hands behind her back and waited for one of them to say something. Her usually eloquent father was still struggling to find the words, but he did have the presence of mind to put his hand on her shoulder. Neldiel was rather glad to have him there. Arvellon looked furious enough to strike her, but doing so in front of the King’s nephews would likely see him locked up for the night, so Neldiel hoped he had enough self-control to keep his hands to himself.

 

“Galuchil,” he snapped, and his eldest son approached, in company with a handsome youth who had white gold hair and pretty eyes; Faelion Daemirion, of course, Galuchil’s best friend. Faelion was ignoring Neldiel, so she ignored him right back and looked at her uncle. “Go and find your brother,” Arvellon was ordering his firstborn. “He is…in the pond.”

 

Faelion’s eyes flickered in amusement, and Galuchil tilted his head. “That…is an odd place for anyone to be. Which brother? And why is he in a pond?”

 

“It is Míradan. Don’t ask questions, just go and get him. Take him inside and have him cleaned up,” Arvellon growled. Without waiting to see that he was obeyed, he rounded on Neldiel. “And _you_ ought to be cutting yourself a switch by now, little girl.”

 

That made Brandir stir, and he stepped behind his youngest, moving both hands to rest on her shoulders. Neldiel couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew what they would look like as he stared his wife’s brother down - hard and cold, unwavering. “She is not your daughter, Arvellon.” Brandir wasn’t easily intimidated. His voice was soft steel. “She is mine, and I thank you to hold your peace. She shall be disciplined, yes, but never by your command.”

 

“Then see her disciplined, Brandir,” Arvellon snarled. He turned on his heel in a swish of forest green robes, but he found his way blocked by the eldest heir of Lord Elmo. He took a step back to put more than a few inches between his face and Galadhon’s. “Excuse me.” The words were just about on the right side of respectful, but he spoke them through gritted teeth. When Galadhon made no move to stand aside, Arvellon glared at him, his cobalt eyes sparking with anger. “What is this, my lord?”

 

“You were quick to order Neldiel’s punishment, but clearly she retaliated because Míradan kicked her. She defended herself in perhaps the only way she could,” Galadhon replied calmly. “You have said nothing of disciplining your son for his part in this. I like to think that neither Celeborn nor Galathil would dare to treat an elleth so poorly, but if they did, they would be cutting themselves a switch and bending over the nearest available surface.”

 

“Celepharn would do the same,” Gwathion agreed. “Would you like me to lend you a knife, Lord Arvellon?”

 

Arvellon looked as though he would like nothing better than to storm away without another word, but he said with forced politeness, “That shall not be necessary. Good day to you, my lords.” He stepped past the sons of the Steward and strode across the garden, his back stiff and his shoulders tense. His eyes must have been alight with fury, for all who stood in his way were quick to let him pass unhindered.

 

Though she knew she ought to be looking contrite, Neldiel couldn’t help but smile at how well her uncle had been taken down a peg, and not even in private. Lord Galadhon caught her happy expression and gave her a disapproving look, but his younger brother winked at her from behind his back. Neldiel smiled inwardly even as she pasted her ‘I am very sorry’ look back onto her face. She didn’t at all like Celepharn, but his father was much nicer.

 

“Thank you, Galadhon, Gwathion,” Brandir was saying, with a quiet sigh. “I shall take my daughter inside before she can find more trouble for herself.”

 

Neldiel thought that was rather unfair. Even she couldn’t find trouble whilst standing at her father’s side with his hands on her shoulders. But now he was moving his hands, taking her smaller hand in his and leading her through the crowds that had gathered to celebrate Baralin’s Begetting Day. Neldiel obediently trailed along, but she glanced over her shoulder to wave goodbye to Lord Gwathion. The steward’s youngest son was watching her thoughtfully, but every so often he directed a glance to his only child. Neldiel was offended again. She wouldn’t push Celepharn in any ponds – unless he deserved it – so Gwathion didn’t have to worry about that.

 

“I cannot believe that you would do something so abysmally foolish,” Brandir said softly, as he led his daughter inside Lord Ravondir’s manor and up the sweeping staircase. “What were you thinking, Neldiel? Were you thinking at all?”

 

“Yes, I was thinking that I didn’t like being kicked by Míradan,” Neldiel reminded her father. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

 

“He should not, and I assure you I am not happy that he did. But you took revenge instead of seeking help from an adult.” Father and daughter reached the bedroom that had been Siliveth’s during her childhood, and was now used as a guest room by her and Brandir during visits to her parents. Brandir let go of Neldiel’s hand to open the door, and he propelled her inside with a light swat to get her moving. “There was a garden full of family close by,” he continued. “You found me easily enough, but you could have gone to your sisters, your grandparents, Uncle Baralin, your mother…you are twenty-six, Neldiel. You are old enough to know better.”

 

Neldiel stared at the polished floor, not necessarily upset by the scolding but certainly surprised by it. She had not expected her father to react so, even though she supposed that pushing Míradan into the pond was quite naughty. “I’m sorry, Ada,” she said softly.

 

“Being sorry is well and good, but it is not good _enough_ ,” Brandir replied shortly. “What if Míradan had run to his father before you found me? What if I was not there to look after you? Do you think Uncle Arvellon would treat you kindly if he had been able to punish you?”

 

Oh. So that was why her father was so cross. He was worried about what might have happened. Neldiel shook her head quietly, her eyes still lowered. No, she didn’t think Arvellon would treat her kindly. He had never punished her before, and she hoped he never had the opportunity. Recalling how Galadhon and Gwathion had all but ordered her uncle to give Míradan a switching, she almost felt sorry for her cousin. Oh, she was quite sure that Arvellon would not _harm_ his son, but Neldiel would bet that he wouldn’t give Míradan a hug when it was all over.

 

“Understand this,” Brandir went on quietly. “I do not condone Míradan’s behaviour. It will always anger me to see my daughters hurt. But you must learn to ask for help. I never want you to suffer in silence because you think you can fix a thing yourself. _Ask_ for help when you need it. Don’t think you can right everything yourself. Not yet, not when you are still so young.”

 

“I’ll try, Ada. I promise.”

 

With his delicate, not-quite-penitent daughter standing safe in front of him, Brandir could not know that one day such a thing would come to pass, his imagined scenario given life. He could not guess that to suffer in silence would be his beloved child’s fate, that the suffering he warned her of now would go unnoticed by him and her mother and everyone else who maybe should have seen it. And Neldiel…she could not know that when that dark day finally came, followed by so many more, she would hate her silence, she would wish that it was different and that she had been brave enough to speak one small word.

 

  _Help._


End file.
